e was saying it to him especially； she was trying to help himbecause she knew he was in trouble。 And this trouble was also her own； which she would never tellto John。 And even though he was certain that they could not be speaking of the same things—forthen； surely； she would be angry and no longer proud of him—this perception on her part and hisavowal of her love for him lent to John’s bewilderment a reality that terrified and a dignity thatconsoled him。 Dimly； he felt that he ought to console her； and he listened； astounded； at the wordsthat now fell from his lips：
‘Yes； Mama。 I’m going to try to love the Lord。’
At this there sprang into his mother’s face something startling； beautiful； unspeakably sad—as though she were looking far beyond him at a long； dark road； and seeing on that road atraveler in perpetual danger。 Was it he； the traveler？ or herself？ or was she thinking of the cross ofJesus？ She turned back to the wash…tub； still with this strange sadness on her face。
‘You better go on now；’ she said； before your daddy gets home。’
In Central Park the snow had not yet melted on his favorite hill。 This hill was in the center of thepark； after he had left the circ le of the reservoir； where he always found； outside the high wall ofcrossed wire； ladies； white； in fur coats； walking their great dogs； or old； white gentlemen withcanes。 At a point that he knew by instinct and by the shape of the buildings surrounding the park；he struck out on a